Willing to Serve
by FMAvatard
Summary: Arthur Kirkland works as a butler to a high-profile entrepreneur. However, his orders are more than a little unorthodox. 'M' for suggestive content/language.
1. Chapter 1

At the crack of dawn, he begins his day. The bed he rises from is remade within the span of five minutes, not a single wrinkle or crease is to be found, each corner tucked and tidy. It is then that he dresses himself, a simple pair of of black trousers coordinating with a black waistcoat and jacket, the white dress shirt underneath it all as a base. There are no loose ends or untucked fabrics, not a single speck of dust or hair breaking the illusion of perfection.

It is then that he exits his chamber, moving down the hall, down the grand staircase, the foyer, into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. He is not the best cook, yet somehow the meals are still rather enjoyable. He decides that eggs are in order, sunny-side up, and some sausages he's been saving for just such a morning. It is an ordinary morning, of course, but nevertheless.

He winces as the top of the salt shaker flies off into the egg and milk mixture, an excessive amount of the grain pouring like a waterfall into the once perfectly edible dish. He hurriedly adds just as much pepper, hoping the two will cancel each other out. Perhaps a few other spices...paprika, cinnamon, yes, all good ideas to fix this catastophe.

The hellish mixture pours into a heated pan, stirred occasionally, scraped when it sticks. He turns his back for a moment, humming a quiet tune as he wonders where on Earth that milk went. His master would enjoy a glass of milk to wash this down, he always does. He drains it in a single gulp after finishing breakfast, never wasting a single drop. The butler shakes his head; he would need to speak to the farmer from down the lane sometime this week; something like running low on dairy could _not _be allowed.

The scent of smoke in the air tells him that he pondered over the milk for far too long, and that the sausages have also blackened. Damn...well, hopefully the inside would still be considered edible. He adds a parsley leaf to the side, smiling as it..._almost _makes the nightmare on the plate appear decent.

He carries the dish and (what he could manage of a) drink chest-high, out of the kitchen, through the foyer, up the grand staircase, and back up the hall, stopping at the large door. He opens it after skillfully balancing the breakfast on his arm, quickly taking it back in hand.

"Good morning, Master Jones. I've allowed you an extra hour of sleep today. You have an appointment with Sir Bonnefoy, the head of your European division, at noon. I apologize for the lack of milk, I'll see to it that we have a fresh batch by the morrow. Please enjoy your breakfast. I'll draw your bath."

The plate is set by his master's bedside, the blonde man awaking in it slowly, rubbing at his eyes and groping for his spectacles. His bleary blue eyes make contact with his own green ones, and he thanks his butler hoarsely.

"Thank you, that will be all, Arthur. See to it the man has coffee when he arrives."

"As you wish, Master Jones."

He leaves the room, hearing his master beginning to work on that meal. Luckily for the butler, his American employer never seems to notice the terrible mistakes he makes when it comes to the culinary arts. Anything other than desserts normally ends up a disaster.

Alfred Jones is the C.E.O. of a major printing industry, with translators and manufacturing companies across the globe. After his father retired, the man arrived to the mansion with little more than stubble on his chin and the naïveté of a toddler, even at nineteen. With the mansion came Arthur Kirkland, who had been recently employed by Alfred Jones Senior after the previous butler's passing away. He'd hardly known the original founder before the retirement, his more...energetic son being thrust into the life of an entrepreneur, as well as Arthur's life, quite suddenly.

He takes to the washroom, filling the large tub with clear, hot water. Specially heated, from boilers in the basement; only his master and the Mayor in the town below have such a luxury. Master adores his baths, especially when his butler manages to find the bubbling mixture he's so fond of. He pours just that into the water, the bubbles brewing delightfully, more and more until the tub is filled with them

He stands, waiting, locating a fresh towel in an adjacent cabinet as the door opens, his master entering the washroom with a quiet yawn. The butler moves to him, his fingers gently working off his master's nightclothes.

"I trust you slept well, Master Jones?"

"Well enough, I suppose. Thank you for breakfast."

"It's no trouble, Master Jones."

This is a ritual conversation.

His master is ready to bathe now. The butler takes the pants, button-up shirt, and undershorts to the laundry chute, dropping it down; he'll tend to it soon, after supper. The gentle sloshing behind him signals that his master is submerged, turning to see that yes, he's now covered in bubbles, save for his head and neck.

"Have I found the correct temperature for you, Master Jones?"

"Excellent, Arthur."

The butler nods. He'll stand aside, waiting for any request. He normally scolds his master if he requests food in the tub, but goes through with the order. Sometimes he requests the paper, or a novel he'd been reading. Sometimes he taps the side of the tub three time, which specifies-

_Click click click_.

Ah. No time to dally. Arthur quickly works off his jacket folding it neatly on the shelf behind him. The waistcoat is next, receiving the same proper treatment as the jacket, the same with his dress shirt and pants. His master watches the servant undress, a quiet smile on his face. The butler never looks up, knowing he is observed, yet never speaking a word as he carries out the order.

Arthur Kirkland stands naked, stepping quietly over to the tub. It is only then when he is permitted to make eye contact with his master. The young blonde is still smiling as he sits up straight and takes his butler's hand. The servant nods, slipping into the water and on Alfred's lap without so much as splash. His master will smile and say something like-

"You do need to get more sun, Arthur."

-before bringing his lips to Arthur's neck, planting soft kisses and licks to the pale skin. The butler would respond with a small shiver, something along the lines of-

"It's winter, Master Jones."

-or-

"I tend to the lawn to quickly for the sun to get me, Master Jones."

Today, he could not respond as his master scoops a small handful of cold cream from a small table near the tub, rubs it into his hands for a few seconds. He _chooses_ not to respond, anyway. He instinctively leans forward, raising his rear off his master, waiting.

"Eager today, Arthur?"

"Routine anticipation, Master Jones."

He feels Alfred's fingers, slick with the cream, enter him slowly, deeply. The butler keeps his expression steady, as always, feeling the sensation move in, out, around his entrance, back in, all mixed with the hot water surrounding him.

"Go on."

His master gestures for him to begin, drawing his fingers from Arthur and taking a firm hold of his hips. The butler nods, taking a handful of the cold cream and reaching below the water for his master's endowment. Alfred is not as talented with keeping his pleasure to himself, his young face contorting in pleasure as he is handled by his butler's skilled hands.

This is not the first time, by far. He's learned that his master enjoys being played with, especially during his bath. His favorite is when his butler presses his thumb against the head of his cock, slathering the cream over his entire length as he croons into his master's ear.

He releases his master's erection, shifting himself up and forward. He works himself slowly down on his master's cock, used to the feeling, but...admittedly, sinfully savoring it. He whimpers pitifully, lowering his head to hide his shame. At least until his master jerks his chin up, crushing his lips to his. Arthur knew that would happen; it always does. His hands go to their place, his master's shoulders, holding himself steady. The sound of his master moaning is far too much of a turn-on for him to say.

Alfred Jones is an exceedingly attractive young man. The very first night he had arrived, Arthur made that assessment. The seventh night was when his master had requested to share a bed during a thunderstorm. The tenth had been a particularly erotic tryst at midnight in the master's rose garden. Since then, the master had been quite open to personal requests such as this, and his butler was more than willing to fill them.

"M-Move, Arthur..."

His butler nods and raises his rear, nearly bringing himself up from Alfred completely before coming back down again. His master is a large man, one who fills him right up in just the most amazing way...a disgraceful admission, for a lowly servant. He continues riding his master, a quiet moan eeking from his throat and mixing with Alfred's louder ones,

. . .

He likes what his master does with him. That is perhaps the most horrific admission of all; based on only four weeks of completely physical, carnal ventures, Arthur Kirkland willingly gives himself to his master, each night, each day, sometimes multiple times.

His sounds of ecstasy are indecent. The way he _wants _this, totally lewd. He was a blemish...

"Arthur...A-Arthur, _please_."

The butler nods, coming down on his master roughly, a bit of water spilling over the edges. He accommodates himself when his master takes his head and kisses him hard, their tongues mingling together. Arthur takes it upon himself to wrap his arms around Alfred's neck, keeping the kiss intact, penetrating himself with his master and moaning into his lips.

His master's arms lace around his back, his fingers digging into the flesh. Arthur winces, though at the same time moans again.

The servant is a mess; a mess of pleasure and humiliation and _total_ _bliss_. He can feel his master bucking into him, desperate for more. All hope is lost. Arthur loses himself, the surging delight swirling in his stomach, his cries of bliss matching Alfred's, if only a bit more loud, a tad more ragged. So many pent-up urges release themselves at once; he kisses his master in a sad attempt to silence himself, the moans sounding more like sobs as he thrusts himself harder, rapidly, as hard as he possibly can onto Alfred.

His master clings to Arthur, shouting obscenities and his name '_Arthur, oh God, Arthur, yes_!' Finally, the loudest cry of all sounds out, and it's his master releasing himself inside of his butler. Arthur immediately stops after he works Alfred fully, breathing hard and still erect. His cock is sore and flushed, dripping under what little layer of bubbles are left. His panting is painful, needing desperate attention, but he knows this is not for him; it's all for his master. What he does to his master is already improper; it would be even worse if he were to take care of himself right here, or anywhere for that matter.

He lifts himself, letting Alfred slide out, staying close. He waits for his master to speak. Something like-

"That will be all, Arthur."

But he doesn't say a word. Rather, his master surprises him by heaving him out of the bath and resting him gently on the cold stone floor. Arthur's eyes are wide and frightened, confused and still very much in need of release.

"Master Jo-?"

He is silenced by a kiss, a much gentler one than he is used to from his master. Arthur is tempted to close his eyes, but does not; that would also be improper. His master's lips travel down his body, placing kisses and nips along him in ways no one had before; the butler certainly doesn't watch, but does grow more tense.

This has never happened before.

He moans sharply as his swollen cock is engulfed by his master's lips, tongue, and his digits slip inside him, jerking back and forth, rubbing and stroking him until he's squirming.

His master is so hot around, him, even hotter than the water. Arthur's attempts at staying quiet are a failure, as he's nearly screaming now, his voice hoarse as his back arches and his hips thrust.

"M-Master..._M-Master Jones_, oh..._oh_ _yes_, _please_ _Master_, God...!"

Alfred holds his butler's hips down to the floor, bobbing up and down and swirling his tongue around Arthur's stiff length. He hums around it, pushing himself further until he takes it all in. The servant feels tears coming to his eyes, his body unable to suppress so much anymore and resorting to other ways of release.

It's not until Alfred brings himself up from Arthur's cock and takes a hold, circling his thumb over the tip, that Arthur lets go, his body coursing with energy that erupts out in a cry of bliss and in a small stream of white that hits his master right in the face. His back is arched, and his hips are bucking, and he's still moaning up until the very end. His muscles relax, and he closes his eyes, gasping for air. He looks down, feeling a hand clasping his own...it's his master, who is silently using a rag to wipe the cum from his cheek and eyebrow.

Arthur reddens. He's done something very sinful just now; not only has his employer seduced him, but now _he_ has seduced his employer. A travesty of service, and he can hardly move...his legs feel numb, and he just wants to sleep.

He's being kissed again. That slow, calm kiss that was a bit foreign to him.

"Arthur?"

"...y-yes, Master?"

"I'd like if you canceled my appointment today. Rather, I think I would enjoy my supper in town this afternoon. And I wish for you to accompany me."

. . .

"Master?"

Alfred kisses his butler again, smiling gently.

"You're to take the day off, Arthur..and tomorrow...the whole week...actually, the whole year."

"But...Master-!"

"And from now on, you're to address me as Alfred. We wouldn't want the townsfolk thinking we were committing some sort of societal affair, now would we?"

"...no, ma-...A-Alfred."

"Excellent. So you're fired."

The butler feels his heart drop into his stomach. What? Oh...Christ, he knew it. His master found out about Arthur enjoying himself didn't he? His reputation is ruined. There is no work for someone like him, someone so...unclean. Besides, no one around needs a butler. His livelihood is destroyed for a few minutes of ecstasy. Tears brim in his eyes, one reason for now being cast out as a homeless peasant, and two...he will miss Alfred. Even now, he was still saying things like that to himself. Unbelievable.

"...I-I understand."

"Good, I'm glad."

Alfred kneels down, taking his former butler's chin and kissing him yet again. Arthur is too surprised to protest, but pulls away quietly. His former master speaks again, smiling softly.

"Because it really isn't proper to court your servants now is it? You may still live here, if you wish. You no longer have to work, unless you want to. In fact...if you mop and sweep, I'll cook and dust. Does that sound alright? You don't have to worry about money ever again, I'll make enough for the both of us."

...court? Arthur is bewildered; it's not _right _for a butler to court a-

...

...he's been fired.

He's no longer a butler, and therefore...no longer tied to the class system...

"I...yes."

Arthur's answer is a hug, a strong hug from Alfred, who laughs joyously.

"Perfect! Come, we'll get dressed. If Bonnefoy knocks and no one answers, that's how he'll know the appointment's canceled."

"Mas-...Alfred...that is no way to run a business."

He rolls his eyes as Alfred laughs, bringing him up and kissing him yet again.

"I'll take you out for supper, we'll come home, and...what would _you_ like to do, Arthur?"

That is a question he's never heard before. He never thought it would be asked, and he certainly never though he'd be stark naked when answering it. His mouth opens and shuts, before finding a decision. His cheeks flushed, voice quiet, and body tense, he speaks.

"...would you...could we..."

. . .

"...I'd like to do that again..."

There, he said it. It had been terrific...utterly...before he thinks of an adjective suitable enough, Alfred holds him close, kissing him quite deeply.

"Whatever my master wants..."

"Alfred..."

"Sorry, sorry, I thought it'd be funny."

He kisses Arthur one last time before leading him the bedroom. Maybe it's the moment Alfred points to the clothes and says-

"I've outgrown that suit, wear it."

-or maybe it's the fact that when they were dressed Alfred takes him by the hands and murmurs-

"I've wished to court you since I first stepped into this mansion."

Whatever it is, Arthur's heart is beating fast. Perhaps now it's the time to stop liking the _things _Alfred did to him...and start liking Alfred _himself_.

In fact...that's going to be the easiest order he's ever given himself.


	2. Prequel

Hahaha, I'm not dead. Socially, though, yes. I wanted to get back into the swing of things, so...have a 'Willing to Serve' prequel. I needed to write something porny. Sorry! PGJ will be updated next week, as I will have nice long break~

Enjoy!

* * *

_'Dear Arthur,_

_Please tend to the roses at midnight tonight. Do not bring a lantern, as the moon will be full._

_Do not disappoint me, Arthur._

_A. Jones'_

This was the note folded neatly inside Arthur Kirkland's breast pocket. He did not question his master's strange requests. This was one of many, including food in the bath and extra polish for the stair banister...simply for the purpose of sliding down it.

Alfred Jones was a juvenile who had no idea how to run a business. How on earth his publishing company was still in the black baffled him. Even if Arthur hadn't known the previous C.E.O., he must've had _some_ sort of skill that he'd passed to his son, right? That only made sense.

...Alfred Jones was a very handsome man, though. No doubt. It also baffled him how his master had never brought a lady home, or even suggested to entertain to female guests.

He avoided guests in general.

As per request, he was on the way to the rose garden. Midnight seemed about right, as the moon would be at its highest. Arthur would have preferred a lantern in his possession, but his master had specifically requested him not to bring one. While confusing as he may be, he had been right in the fact the moon was just as good as any kerosene.

Shears in hand, he entered the garden, a large area that nearly took up an acre. Roses, perfectly trimmed on all sides, arranged in winding patterns. Master had wished for a maze, but that would simply have to wait until next season. In the middle of it all rested a grand, marble fountain, elegant and extravagant. Alfred Jones Senior had had the piece imported from Italy, and it truly was the centerpiece of the crimson blossoms, or rather, the perfect accent.

Arthur shivered softly before beginning his work, pruning the thorns and shedding the garden of dead bulbs.

"You're a good one for coming, Arthur."

The tool fell from Arthur's hand with a fumble, his hand flying to his heart as he whirled around. He let out a sigh of relief once he saw who had spoken.

"M-Master Jones, you...goodness, you can't...you nearly gave me a coronary sir. Did you need something? It's very late. Lord Honda will be here in the morrow, so-"

"I wished to see you, Arthur."

The butler's eyes widened a bit as his master took a step toward him. He looked around, suddenly recalling the note. No lantern...midnight...in the garden...

"...I have shears."

Alfred laughed heartily, the sound breaking through the quiet night. Arthur's heart raced until Alfred put his hands on him; his heart came to a halt then.

"I'm not going to kill you, Arthur. Quite the opposite in fact."

"Master Jo-?"

He couldn't get another syllable out; his master's lips were pressed to his own, his hands holding his shoulders, his body practically glued to Arthur's.

. . .

What on Earth _was_ this? What was Alfred doing to him? Kissing him, yes, but...why? For some reason, this wasn't shocking him. This wasn't frightening him, or surprising him, or...anything.

Actually...Arthur rather enjoyed this.

...wait...no, no, he couldn't say that. No. Not at all. What kind of butler _was_ he? He tore himself away from Alfred's grasp, panting lightly.

"...M-...M-Master Jones, I...this is _highly_ inappropriate, what if...what is someone saw, what if-"

"Did I give you permission to speak, Arthur?"

. . .

"...no, Master Jones."

"You may speak. But please, sit over there."

His master was pointing to the fountain...what, on the edge? It was large enough to sit on, but...

"That was an order, Arthur."

"...yes, Master Jones."

The butler calmly moved to the stone, sitting himself in a bit of confusion. This was slowly becoming startling. Especially now that Alfred was moving closer to him...and holding his shoulders again...kissing him again...lightly pushing him down to the stone and unbuttoning his trousers.

"Would you like me stop, Arthur?"

. . .

_Did_ he want him to stop? Arthur didn't know...this was improper, this was lust, this was everything he'd been taught not to do and be. It was sinful, immoral..._fantastic_. There was a heat coursing through his body like he'd never felt before, this desire. Just thinking about it made a small moan leave his lips, silencing himself immediately.

He couldn't allow slip-ups like that. If his master knew that he enjoyed this sort of...

It couldn't be allowed.

"Whatever my master wishes."

He watched his master's eyes go from an innocent ocean blue to an icy sea, a glaze of lust forming in an instant. The rest of the Arthur's clothes were off in less than a few moments, leaving him naked and bare on the marble, chilled in the autumn night. The shiver he experienced may have been from the cold, or from the stare his master was giving him, those eyes roving over every inch and curve of his exposed flesh...particularly below. Arthur was on his back, spread before Alfred...lying in anticipation...shame?

"...it's improper to stare, Master Jones..."

His master tore his gaze from Arthur's length, smiling softly.

"Sorry, Arthur. I'll remember. On your stomach."

. . .

"Yes, Master."

Arthur hesitated a moment, turning over to lay on his stomach. The marble was freezing...it was so thrilling.

No, he couldn't be thinking like this.

His master raised his butler's hips, turning him. Arthur's torso rested on the marble, his legs and rear hanging off the back. He was facing the cascading water, arms nearly in the pool, his master behind him. He could feel-

"A-ah, Mas-...Master Jones...oh go-"

He lost all coherency to moans, the feeling of heat pressing on and around his entrance, his master's tongue. Kisses and licks, squirms and arches. Arthur could hardly suppress himself. The moans sounded out through the garden, his hands gripping the stone like iron. Sometimes Alfred would dip a bit lower and suck at him, strong along his hardened cock.

"M-Master...Master-"

"Hold still Arthur."

"Wha-?"

He winced, feeling Alfred's finger enter him. It was another cold sensation, slick...he recognized it. He'd rubbed this moisturizer onto his hands countless times, onto his master's shoulders dozens since his arrival less than two weeks ago...

He breathed, allowing Alfred to fondle inside him, in and out and around. One digit turned to two, and Arthur was moaning all over again. It took every ounce of his strength to not push himself back, desperate for more, to take in more. The butler was flipped over once again, and he was kissed hard by his master. His legs spread wider on their own, and also by his master's hands. More kisses, a quiet murmur of 'Don't get wet' and 'Relax.'

His master entered him slowly, pushing his cock completely into his butler with a small moan. Every muscle in Arthur's body went rigid, clamping his mouth shut. His head would have dangled back in the pool if he weren't keeping himself like that. The small nod he gave his master was the signal to go, keep going, keep the pleasure going. Alfred obliged, pulling himself almost completely out before thrusting back in. The butler moaned softly, his hips bucking just slightly. The rhythm continued, picked up in tempo, crescendoed, in particular, Arthur. He feared the town below would overhear his cries of bliss, his exclamations for Master Jones and God above.

. . .

Arthur realized something...he wanted this. He wanted his master's cock inside him, buried balls-deep inside him, thrusting into him hard and fast, making him scream and twist and beg and-

His vision blurred, a white heat coiling like a knot in his stomach. Tighter as tighter, his hips thrusting up, his screams growing louder and more erratic, until release came. The heat burst through him, from him, one last moan, as if a horrid burden had been lifted from his shoulders, the cum hitting his chest and stomach. He could feel his master continue to thrust into him, a dull throb now that his butler had finished. Alfred seemed to realize this and pulled out, still very hard and in need if attention.

...well...that couldn't do. Arthur took his master's cock in his hands and stroked, toying with the tip more than anywhere. His master moaned deeply, his hips thrusting into his butler's palm. So needy...Arthur kept on, kissing along the side, running his tongue along the fantastic length that had stretched him so wonderfully only moments ago.

Arthur could feel his master twitching, see his legs trembling. He stroked faster, moving a bit closer to the head. His tongue swirled over it, moving back the second he heard the ragged moan. The release was hot on his cheeks, but perhaps that was due to the fact it was so cold tonight...

The two panted in the dark for awhile, otherwise completely silent. Arthur rested for a moment before standing shakily, retrieving his master's clothing and handing it to him.

"...h-here you are, sir."

His reward was a kiss, soft, gentle.

"That will be all, Arthur."

His master took the clothes, dressed quickly, and left his butler. Arthur stood a moment longer before finding his own clothing, dressing clumsily, and moving back into the mansion. He had the strangest feeling that this would not be the last time this sort of thing occurred.

...did it make Arthur a bad person for hoping it wasn't?


End file.
